"You have no idea how easily I could place my Theron upon that throne, Kevron," Aveline said.
Her voice was calm—too calm. The emerald in her eyes had vanished, swallowed by an obsidian darkness that made even the King's breath catch.
He looked up at her, one hand clutching desperately at his throat. "...The throne?" he rasped, his vision already beginning to blur. This had never been about replacing Theron. Never. He wanted to explain. He wanted to tell her everything.
Let me speak.
I know who killed your parents.
His lips parted, but no words came. His lungs refused to obey him.
"Not interested," Aveline replied quietly as she closed her eyes.
The invisible threads were still there.
The breaths.
Every inhale. Every exhale.
They no longer felt unfamiliar. They felt... natural. As though they had always belonged in her hands, waiting for her to notice them. Then another rhythm emerged beneath them, softer yet stronger.
Thump... Thump... Thump...
